


Master of the House: Look in the mirror

by SHADOWSQUILL



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 1950s, 1950s housewife, Chameleon Arch (Doctor Who), Dubious Consent, F/M, Introspection, Rape/Non-con Elements, fifties era, human nature au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHADOWSQUILL/pseuds/SHADOWSQUILL
Summary: He had had a sick pleasure by turning her into a toy he could manipulate and use as much as he wanted until she finally broke. How many times had he broken her when she was playing this nauseating part? How many times had he abused of her body and mind? She remembered the hands around her neck, the yells on her incompetence to be the perfect wife who blindly obeyed her husband? And to think she had let herself be dominated, that she had let him have the control over her because shethoughtshe had to act like this?
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Master of the House: Look in the mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zaffrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaffrin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Master of the House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23528353) by [zaffrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaffrin/pseuds/zaffrin). 



> The passages in italics are quotes from the original story written by spoilersweetie.  
> The story, nor the characters belong to me.  
> This short story is only a gift for the author.
> 
> (Also, I'm shit at tagging stuff so I used the original tags of the main story).  
> (Ah, and English isn't my main language, it hasn't been proofread so there might be mistakes here and there).

The Doctor violently crashed her fists in the mirror she was facing to destroy her reflection and release the building rage suffocating her by constantly crushing her chest as if a Judoon was sitting on her there until she couldn’t breathe anymore. It had been six months since she dropped the Master to his TARDIS and told him she never wanted to see him ever again. Six months since she was wandering the universe with her friends to get her mind off of what she had done to her. But it was all vain. Nothing could numb the fury inside her hearts, the fury letting out the worst side of her whenever she was facing an ordeal in life after Thea. All because of a single person. The same person who had been her only friend for such a long time. The only person who could understand who she was – though this truth wasn’t that much of a truth anymore – and how she felt, the sacrifice she had to do to keep the universe and herself safe.

She also happened to be the only person who could understand him and his terrible mood swings, his sick insanity, his desperate need to make the universe pay for what had been done to him. The Master was everything she tried to avoid becoming. They were different, yet so similar in their characters and attitudes. This similarity was bothering, frightening. To think she could become like him… No. She wouldn’t go this far. She had refused to go this far, and this was why he had survived Gallifrey. This was why he had dragged her to the fifties and fashioned her into this perfect stupid domestic little wife of his. She had been abused by the very man she considered as her best friend and worst enemy. The man who was the only Time Lord left of the universe. The man who had burnt a whole planet and slaughtered its inhabitants for what had been done to _her_. And maybe it was this obscure madness, this indecent extravaganza, this self-destructive attitude that she loved the most about him.

Sometimes, being like him would be so much easier than dealing with this consciousness yelling at her eery night for all the wrong choice she had made in her life. She couldn’t let herself fall into this dangerous circle and abuse and destroy people the way he had destroyed her for over a year. He had had a sick pleasure by turning her into a toy he could manipulate and use as much as he wanted until she finally broke. How many times had he broken her when she was playing this nauseating part? How many times had he abused of her body and mind? She remembered the hands around her neck, the yells on her incompetence to be the perfect wife who blindly obeyed her husband? And to think she had let herself be dominated, that she had let him have the control over her because she **_thought_** she had to act like this? If only he had stuck to this comedy… But he had also abused her first female body. The thought of him pinning her down on her stomach on the bed while he made his way inside her to satisfy his male desires…

Bile rose in her throat; she just had the time to rush to the closest bathroom the TARDIS had in store and bend over the sink before the contents of her stomach crossed the barrier of her lips. This time, there was no one to hold her hair away from her face, to rub her back and prepare a cup of water to rinse her mouth afterward like that time around Christmas when she got sick with a terrible stomach flu. Oscar had been so lovely and considerate… No, it hadn’t been Oscar. It had been the Master all along, it had been his game and he had had fun. He had made fun of her and she would remember this until the day she died, if she could even die. Her hands tensed on the edge of the sink as images of the obedient scared woman he had made of her flashed through her mind, images of her and the Master in bed, on the kitchen table, in the tulip patch… She vomited again, then raised her head to meet her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

She didn’t see herself, didn’t see the Doctor in that mirror. Instead, she saw Thea with her perfectly combed hair, its curled ends and the small colourful bow she loved wearing; with her perfectly ironed dress, her jewels, her light make-up, her shining eyes and the bright smile of a woman who didn’t know anything of her real life. Thea was everywhere she looked now. Thea and Oscar. Oscar and Thea. The Master and Thea. The Doctor and the Master. Every time she closed her eyes they were there, waiting for her, reminding her of a life she could have had if she wasn’t the Timeless Child, the first Time Lord ever created. Simpler times, happier times. And it was all fake. It was all a simulation, a reality created in her mind. How could she have let this happen? She had programmed the circuit herself, had made sure to stay in present times and away from him. How could she have let him messing up with her life that much?

She saw herself as Thea on that day she was sick to the point of being bedridden by Oscar himself. She had the exact same look: the dark bags under her eyes, the pale skin, drops of sweat on her forehead, tousled hair. She raised a hand to her forehead and remarked that she was burning hot. Stomach aches, fever and no Oscar to take care of her. Rage grew wilder in her chest, and she smashed the mirror in another failed attempt to forget this whole year, to forget Thea, to forget Oscar, to forget the whole illusion she had been living him. An illusion that was torturing her night and day and making her sick. If the Master ever dared crossing her path again, she would give him the same treatment she gave those mirrors. He had _dared_ , she thought. He had dared coming here, coming in _her_ TARDIS and leaving her those tulips and this note.

She rinsed the sink, rinsed her mouth and her face and noticed her hand was bleeding. There was blood in the sink, on the ground, drops tracing the path she had taken to reach this bathroom. She wasn’t in the mood to clean all of that, didn’t have the strength to. If she had been Thea, she would have pushed aside this sudden sickness and cleaned it all before Oscar came back home. And if he had found her on her knees, scrubbing the ground, he would have turned it to his advantage, or tried to before realising that she was sick. He would have taken her to bed, cleaned and bandaged her hand, prepared a cold cloth to help with her fever. She might hate him with all she had, might want to exterminate him or abandon him somewhere; she might want her revenge on him, release her rage on him, but it didn’t take away one single fact: she _missed_ the gentle caring Oscar and all the good he had done to her despite their non-consented relationship.

She slipped to the ground, her feet tucked under her bottom, her back against the cabinet hiding the pipework of the sink and closed her eyes. The world was spinning around her. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a while. As the Doctor she meant. If only she could get some rest, just a little bit of rest without dreams, without memories, she would feel much better, less distraught and she would be able to enjoy her adventures with her friends without them worrying about her having weird reactions, mood swings, changes of mind, without them asking what was wrong with her.

_“Why are grinning like that?” “Because I’m happy.” “You’re… happy.”_

_“These are for you.” And a bunch of tulips held out to her._

_“I_ **am** _going to be here for you.” “Here for me?” “Always.” “_ **Why** _?” “Why because– I’m your wife. For better or worse.”_

_“Love you.” “Love you too, sweetheart.”_

_She wasn’t listening, she wasn’t thinking, head rushing with thoughts, heart aching and stomach churning, the only thing clear in her mind in that moment was get away from her husband. She didn’t look, didn't even hear the rough engine that signalled a car rounding the corner as she turned and ran across the road, didn't hear any noise at all until it’s the screeching of brakes, and a blinding flash of light in her eyes and it’s too late._

_“You’re in hospital, love.” Easy, breathe.” “You scared the life out of me.” “I’m just glad you’re okay.”_

_O’s voice was warm in her ear, and his arm strong around her as he helped her into the house. She moved slowly, trying not to wince with every step, one hand pressed to her side where she’s tightly bandaged beneath her clothes, and the other gripping onto her husband’s shoulder._

_She let out a huff of relief when she made it to the sofa, collapsing down and panting a little from the exertion, watching as O lift her legs up to rest on it too._

_“Is that alright? Do you want some more cushions - a blanket?”_

_“I’m fine.”_

_“Grateful to have such a wonderful husband to take care of me.”_

_“What shall we call it?” “What, love?” “Our child.”_

_“I wanted to stay with you. This life we had… it was good. I wanted us to stay.” ‘I love you. Thea –_ you _. I wanted… I wanted to stay with you – I was going to turn myself human too, use the arch.”_

_“I was going to do it, as soon as you were better - I was going to be Oscar for you, properly - I wanted us to be happy! Have a family, just like you wanted, I’d have given you everything you wanted - “_

_But still, even though the Doctor told herself all this, told herself over and over that what the Master had done to her was abhorrent, and she was furious with him for it… she found herself longing for the contented moments she had experienced as Thea Smith. Sitting by the fireplace with her head in O’s lap as he read softly to her. Strolling arm and arm with him to the park at the weekends, him listening to her chatter on indulgently. Laying beneath him in their bed, his lips pressed to her neck and her legs wrapped around him as he moved inside her, whispered that he loved her, and she had believed it with everything inside her. Had felt_ loved _by him._

_She missed him. She hated herself but she missed Oscar… she missed her husband._

“Doc?”

She woke up, gaping for air, eyes burning, cheeks wet with tears. Her hand was clumsily bandaged, the blood on the ground had been cleaned quickly. Graham was crouched beside her, a hand on her forehead. No sign of her younger companions anywhere. Good.

She sat up straight, wiped away the tears on her cheeks. What was he doing here? She had sent them back home. She needed some time to herself. Time she had used to break mirrors and get sick. Great. As if she needed more reasons to worry her companions.

“You don’t look okay.”

_No kidding_ , she thought bitterly. She was okay. She would never be okay again, unless she rooted out the devil. She knew what she had to do, and she couldn’t go with any of her friends on board. She pushed away the sickness she felt, managed to convince Graham to leave her alone – briefly thanked him for checking on her and cleaning her mess. Only then did she take a deep breath and glanced at the time rotor determinedly. It was time to get the answers she needed to move on…

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little something I wrote for Emma (spoilersweetie), the author of the brilliant chameleon arch story about Thirteen and Dhawan!Master: _Master of the house_. I have read a lot of stories before and this one is easily one of my favourite, and one of the most well-written I ever came across in my career of reader. I can only recommend this story to you, and if you don't like it, well, just close the page and take your negative opinion with you, okay? This work is a masterpiece. <3


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